


Magic

by transtwinyards



Category: The Scorpio Races - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Post-The Scorpio Races
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4769612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtwinyards/pseuds/transtwinyards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean Kendrick and his life quickly after the races.</p><p> </p><p>A series of shorts surrounding Sean Kendrick and his very complicated feelings about routines, regular Thisby life, and Kate "Puck" Connolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I love, love, _love_ this book and the way it weaved in this ship like a snake in a meadow. I DIDN'T SEE IT COMING IT JUST BIT ME IN THE ASS AND SWALLOWED ME WHOLE.
> 
> but anyway, here's some really fucking fluffy fluff shit for the main ship.

Sean Kendrick had grown used to waking up to whinnies and stomps on the dirt road just outside the staircase to his place at Malvern Yard. He had grown used to being within reach of his horses, of Corr, and of the smell of hay, mud, and farm life.

Sean Kendrick had gotten used to many things under his years working for Malvern. He had gotten used to Malvern’s things. He had raised Malvern’s horses, trained them, and protected them.

And that is exactly why he was not used to _this_.

 _This;_ waking up early in the morning smelling the mist, feeling the cold settling in his knee joints; feeling the press of something warm by his cheek and meeting a pale hand when he looked.

He was not used to _this_ , to waking up on the floor, in the Connolly house. _This,_ to waking up and thinking to himself that he now fully owned Corr and that he didn’t need to come back to Malvern Yard unless he was needed. Because it was known by Benjamin Malvern himself that he was needed.

Sean Kendrick was not used to _this_.

 _This_ , he meant, being waking up next to Puck Connolly on a cold Sunday morning.

 _This_ , hearing her brother, Finn Connolly, sing along to mainland radio music (today had fair weather, that meant).

 _This_ , the feeling of warm and fitting knitted socks on his feet, instead of being barefoot.

 _This_ , the smell of whatever Finn was baking, and a smell that was, distinctly, Puck Connolly.

Sean Kendrick was not used to waking up happy, and he found himself oddly elated by that thought. Because that meant that he _had_ it, the mare sea goddess has given her his— no, _their_ , Puck and Sean’s, whispered wish by the cliffs near Tommy Falk’s pyre.

There was magic everywhere, from the feeling of Puck’s fingers twitching by his cheek, to the warm feeling that seldom spread inside him spreading fast and steady now, like a second heartbeat.

“You’re thinking too loud,” croaked a voice. Sean leaned into the warmth of Puck’s fingers, nuzzled his cheek like Corr would when he did the same thing. _Too much alike_.

“I don’t think that’s entirely possible,” Sean replied with his own croaky voice. He had not thought to stand up for a glass, since he was nearly too distracted while “thinking too loud”. Puck made a sound that seemed dismissive, but it was dripping in affection that Sean found there almost effortlessly.

Sean sat up, grunting a bit by the way his calves cramped up and protested. He scratched at his lower back, lifting his (Gabe’s knitted old) sweater in the process. Puck did not make a move to get out of her own bed, but she did watch his actions with sleep-clouded interest.

“It’s Sunday,” Sean said if only to remind her. “Aren’t you and Finn going for service?”

Puck pulled up her sheets and attempted to hide herself. She failed. The blanket rose up to uncover her feet, which were still dirty from work yesterday. Her curls popped out from under the blanket out of sheer rebellion. Sean liked it. Sean liked many things about Puck Connolly.

“Too early,” she whined. “We’ll catch the eight o’clock one. Or try to. You should come with.”

There was a silence between them, one that forced Sean to notice the mainland music lowering its volume. Finn was listening in.

Sean didn’t have to answer her on as to why he decided not to go to Mass with them. He’d never stepped into St. Columba’s, and if he had, he didn’t remember. Puck was not inherently religious, and neither did she mind if he’d turn down her invitation.

The silence stretched comfortably, and the message hanging in the air dropped.

Sean braced himself by the edge of Puck’s bed frame, and pushed himself up. There was no point in sitting here, having an attempt at making plans without Finn Connolly.

“Finn made breakfast, I think,” said Sean.

“Must be a day ending in y,” Puck hummed in response, which meant that she was well on her way back to falling asleep. Or was only pretending to be.

Sean knew that she was pretending right now, because he, too, was hyperaware that he had just spent the night sleeping on a mattress next to Puck’s bed. He was hyperaware that the races were over. He was hyperaware that they had no reason to be with each other since their partnership had ended as soon as Puck crossed the finish line.

He remembered the feeling of Puck’s lips on his, and he smiled. Puck peeked out from under her covers, as if sensing the smile, as if sensing that she’d caused it. _Magic_.

* * *

The best kisses were when they were here, when Puck smelled vaguely of the Malvern Yard and sweat, when the sea shushed at them from behind, when there was water around his ankles.

He vaguely recalled false stories from elementary school, about water horses that could transform into dashing young men and lure women into the ocean to devour. Sean felt himself disagreeing with the legend.

It felt like Puck Connolly was going to pull him out of the ocean, for her to keep, for her to have. He found himself not minding that thought. _Shhhh, shhh_ , the sea called out, as if to pull him back in. The sand underneath him buried him up by the shins as the water receded.

Puck touched his lower lip and smiled, “You’re sinking, step out of the water.”

Sean stepped out of the water, and thus, the water horse was abducted from the sea.

* * *

 

“Sean Kendrick,” said Thomas Gratton from behind Peg Gratton. The butcher’s was not so crowded, and Sean was sent out by Finn, to fetch an order of beef. It was a promise of something savory for dinner, and it was a guarantee of a few extra cinnamon twists from Parlsson’s.

“Where do you stay nowadays? People’ve been saying that you don’t stay at Benjamin Malvern’s anymore,” Thomas continued. Peg looked up from her work, carving knife pausing briefly between hacks and cuts.

“I heard,” Peg spoke up. “That you were aiming to buy your father’s house by the northwestern shore. But that’s what I heard. Where _have_ you been staying?”

Sean didn’t reply. He kept looking at the beef that Peg was still cutting. When enough time passed, he said, “I’ve been with the Connolly’s. They’ve an extra bed for me, and a stable for Corr.”

Thomas and Peg Gratton exchanged odd looks, the type that best friends had, the type that husbands and wives had. Sean briefly wondered if he and Puck had those moments, but then remembered that they barely come out into Skarmouth together for people to see.

“Well,” Peg said as she handed the bag of beef to him. He had not noticed when she finished cutting the pieces. He placed the coins on the counter and shoved his hand back into his coat pocket. “Have a nice day, Sean Kendrick.”

* * *

 

Sean didn’t know how to knit until he’d been staying the third day in the Connolly house. Finn taught him the bare basics, and left him to it, in favor of the Morris. Puffin the barn cat curled around his ankle and rubbed her half-tail on his shins.

He looked up from where he’d been making at the poor attempt of knitting he was doing when the door creaked open. It was evening, and the cold mid-November air seeped into the house. He felt it from beside the fireplace, heard the sound of the wind and the distant shore over the crackling of the wood.

“Damn this weather,” Puck breathed out, eyes closed, back against the wooden door. It was louder than all the noises that Sean had heard. Puck Connolly dominated a room when she opened her mouth, as Sean would when he stood in solid silence.

“Good evening, Puck,” Sean said, putting down the knitting needles, trying to hide them from her. Puck opened her eyes, as if sensing the shift, and glanced down at it. The corner of her eyes wrinkled into a smile in the making. Sean felt his face flush.

“And to you too, Sean Kendrick,” she replied, and though it sounded fond, it was also tired. Sean set aside the yarn and needles and stood, shooing away at Puffin. He approached Puck, only now noticing their height difference as his shadow engulfed her entire being.

His hands went to her shoulders, feeling the dampness of her jacket in an instant.

He leaned down to kiss her and slipped it off. Her shoulders relaxed, she sighed into the kiss, Sean breathed it in like he was passing by Parlsson’s after an especially hard day at work.

He felt her hands, warm and firm, snake around his waist. He was, once again, hyperaware. Puffin the barn cat meowed from behind him. Finn was out late, working at Parlsson’s and Fathom & Sons. Puck’s hands slid up his sides, slowly, gently.

“How was work?” Sean asked, breaking off the kiss. Puck’s breathing had sped up a little, and he was sure his did too. This made him feel elated and exhilarated and wistful for another kiss. Longer, this time.

Puck hummed, “Tiring. How was knitting?”

Sean smiled and breathed out a laugh. Puck leaned up to give him a chaste kiss. He chased after it.

He thought of the silence around him, comfortable and warm next to the fireplace. He thought of the feeling that overtook him when he realized what Finn teaching him this meant. He was part of this now. He was part of the house. He _belonged_. He grinned again, but his eyes were closed while his forehead rested on Puck’s.

“Oh, Kate,” he said, because she needed to know he was serious. He wondered if she knew when he was serious. He wondered if he did share that bond with Puck Connolly, the one that Thomas and Peg Gratton had.

“Kate. Puck Connolly,” he said again, just to let her name drip off his tongue. He liked how it tasted. “My day was completely magical.”


End file.
